


At the Stroke of Midnight

by sewluscious



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Angst, Ballroom Dancing, Blood, Cinderella AU, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fluff, Masquerade, Physical Abuse, mild violence, servitude
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-07-14 09:28:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7165559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sewluscious/pseuds/sewluscious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen and Alistair are servants to Lord Amladaris and his three wicked children Calperina, Raleigh and Livius. When a mage is given shelter from a storm by the pair they are rewarded with magical shoes and livery chain which grants them a disguise so they may attend the ball at Skyhold castle. They could never have imagined that they would meet the love of their lives or that those loves were princesses.</p><p>Thanks to <a href="http://picchar.tumblr.com/"> Picchar</a>  for letting me use her Warden OC Rythlen Cousland</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Part of Your World](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4032958) by [CometEclipse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CometEclipse/pseuds/CometEclipse). 
  * Inspired by [All I Ask of You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4088836) by [Khirsah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khirsah/pseuds/Khirsah). 
  * Inspired by [As the World Falls Down](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3188765) by [Khirsah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khirsah/pseuds/Khirsah). 



Chapter One

Cullen stared at the notice nailed to the call board. It was an invitation to all (which he doubted was sincere) to attend a ball where the Princess of Highever and the Princess of Ostwick will dance and possibly fall in love with their respective dream husbands. At least that’s what he surmised, the language on the invitation was complicated and overly formal.

He jumped when Alistair leapt upon his shoulders. “Anything good?” He chirped while scanning the call board. “Are the Templars and Wardens desperate enough to take two vagabonds like us?” Cullen shook his head as Alistair plucked the invitation off the board. “What’s this? Oh-ho! An invitation! It’s tonight! We should go.”

“It’s not for us.” Cullen sighed as Alistair continued.

“It says everyone.”

“It means for people with a worthy name, not two farm hands and would-be knights.”

Alistair folded the parchment and placed it in his vest pocket. “We are going, my friend. So help the Marker.” Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose knowing better than to dissuade Alistair from anything he set his mind to. It was a hopeless endeavor, like him becoming a Templar and Alistair becoming a Warden. This was not meant for them. A giggle and a sharp pain from Alistair’s elbow broke Cullen’s thoughts. “Look over there.”

Two noble women, one tall with long raven hair that flowed past her backside, the other a head shorter than her friend with auburn hair and a full form were across the street from them. Cullen couldn’t take his eyes off the second woman while his friend ogled the first. They were looking and modeling trinkets for one another, posing in silly ways that caused the happy sound. “We should say hello,” Alistair whispered.

“No. Absolutely not. You’re insane. We can’t just—Alistair!” The ginger farmhand began to stride up to the ladies, cocksure of himself. Cullen had to follow certain his friend would get into some kind of trouble. Why would such lovely ladies want to talk to them?

Cullen was able to catch up to Alistair before too much damage was done. “I’ve never seen such beauty in my life,” Alistair started. The women began to giggle.

“These trinkets are quite lovely,” replied the raven-haired woman.

Alistair gave a smirk. “I wasn’t talking about the baubles.” The woman flushed. Now he did it. Cullen grabbed onto his arm ready to yank Alistair away when the woman smiled making him pause.

“You are too kind,” spoke the raven-haired woman as she tucked a stray tress of hair behind her ear. Her companion, the stout auburn haired woman, was quiet and gazed at the ground at something that must be fascinating because she dared not to look up. Cullen reciprocated this unease, while Alistair began to chat, he stood there dumbfounded and quite desperately trying to locate the interesting object the auburn haired woman must be looking at.

“What are you two doing?!” Snapped a man. Cullen turned and Maker help him it was their patrons, Ser Raleigh, Ser Livius and Lady Calpernia, Lord Sethius Amladaris’s children. Raleigh stepped up to the two men. “Are you accosting these poor women?!“

“Do we pay you to harass young women?” accused Livius. The two nobles glared at their servants, making Cullen wish Alistair never saw the maidens.

“May I ask what is wrong here?” The raven-haired beauty spoke, her ice blue eyes trained on their master, Ser Raleigh.

Raleigh and Livius gave a bow and while Calpernia gave a curtsy. “My ladies these ragamuffins are out servants, if you call them that.” responded Raleigh.

“Farm hands,” Calpernia added, “they mill about in the muck and filth. They shouldn’t even be here.”

“It’s our day off,” Alistair began to explain when Lady Calpernia flipped her hand up to silence him.

“We didn’t say you could speak,” growled Livius.  The auburn haired woman’s head snapped up. She gave a basilisk’s glare at the trio.

“Explain yourself,” She demanded in a sweet poison laced voice.

“Beg pardon–I,” stuttered Raleigh face contorting in panic at the small woman’s glare.

“You heard me.” She interrupted. Her hand now silencing the nobles. “Last I checked, I could speak to whomever I like and we were having a delightful time before you three barged in.” Unfamiliar with chastisement the noble trio began to squirm. “And if this day is their day off it is none of your concern what they do with their spare time.”

“Well,” the dark haired one began. She scanned those before her and gave an amused smile. “It has been lovely, but we must be off.” The two women gave a deep curtsey to Alistair and Cullen. Cullen could feel his face catch fire. Never had anyone given them such respect before and Maker! Cullen couldn’t help but ogle auburn woman as her dress revealed perfect mounds of flesh squished up and threatening to spill over her bodice front. Her eyes flicked up and met his. For a brief instant, his heart stopped. She blushed. Maker’s breath.

As they the women rose they nodded to the noble trio and went on their way. What just happened? They just curtseyed to inferiors while giving their social equals a nod.

Alistair puffed up proudly, a Cheshire cat grin on his face. That earned him a swift smack to the back if the head.

“Come on you louts. I want you two up before the sunrises to feed the horses, ” sneered Livius. With a heavy sigh, the men followed their masters back to the estate.  

~~~~~~~~~

Cullen awoke to the sound of a woman cursing. Groaning he rolled out of his bed and kicked at Alistair’s. “Wake up—Alistair wake up. There is someone outside.”

Alistair groaned and slumped out of the bed.  "What’s going on?“ Alistair grumbled.

Cullen pulled on leather breeches as he looked outside the window. “There’s someone outside. Looks like a woman–”

Alistair trudged over as he wrestled on his tunic to glance out the window for himself. “Her wagon appears to be broken–”

“We should get her inside.  It’s starting to rain. ”

Outside was a tall figure shrouded in a mass of black velvet with a large bag slung over her back, kicked at the wagon. “I really should have checked the work on this contraption before setting off from Orlais.” Spoke the figure, in a thick plummy voice. As the figure turned, she spotted Cullen and Alistair. “Ah! Dear sers, would you be so kind as to help a weary traveler?”

“Of course my lady,” replied Alistair as he rushed to unhooked the horse from the wagon. “I’ll take your mare to the stable and get her settle.”

Cullen held out his arm for the figure grasped it with a gloved hand. “Is there anything in the wagon you need to bring in?”

“The contents should be fine. Thank you so much, my dears. What gentlemen you two are.”

Guiding her inside Cullen helped the woman with her bag and cloak. The removal of the cloak revealed a stunning woman with skin the color of deep topaz that shined in the dim light. Was the Marker cursing him? Another woman as beautiful as the ladies from this morning dressed in white leather, and gleaming silver hennin that made her look like a dragon in human form. Maybe she was a dragon, he wasn’t sure.

“Is there something wrong, my dear?” she spoke in a velvet tone, ebony eyes examining him.

A blush crept onto Cullen’s face as he shook his head furiously. “No–um–no–Ma'am–uh–Would you like some tea?” Gracefully she placed herself on the chair by the table and nodded. With haste Cullen raced to put the kettle on to brew the tea. He felt her eyes bore into his skin. Watching him. This was no ordinary woman.

The door flung open as wind and leaves crashed into the room. Alistair pressed himself into the door as he entered and managed to close it before the weather sucked the heat out of the tiny home.  

“ I was able to get your horse is in the stable and secure your cargo before the storm crashed into us. You are welcome to stay here until it passes though I’m afraid we don’t have much.”

She inclined her head slightly and scrutinized Alistair’s invitation with a saccharine smile that sent a shiver down the man’s spine. “I would hate to intrude.”

“Not at all my Lady. We wouldn’t want you stuck in that storm.” Cullen spoke as he poured her the freshly brewed pot of tea. “It’s no trouble.”

“Call me Madame de Fer. And please you must let me repay you for your kindness,” she pleaded after sipping her tea.

“There is no need.” Alistair nervously chuckled rubbing his hands together. Cullen confirmed with a nodded. It wasn’t their place to be repaid. The woman needed help.

Madame de Fer’s features soften, her eyes warming at the bashful young men. She tapped her finger along her plush burgundy lips. “That won’t do, sers. I must repay my debt. Let’s see—money?” Both men shook their head. While money would be helpful, their masters would surely wonder where they got it, and probably assume they stolen it from them.  "Jewels?“ They shook their head again. “Women?” Both men flushed. Another warm amused smile spread across her lips. “I joke about the last one of course.“ She begins to rummage through her bag and pulls out a large crisp envelop with a blood red wax seal on the back. "I have an invitation to this ball, the one at Castle Skyhold– and–well–I’m not one to go to such things. Would you two like to go in my stead?”

Alistair perked up. This woman was practically saying they could attend the ball. He looked over to his roommate, eyes as wide as a begging mabari.

Cullen shook his head. “While that is a wonderful gift. We have nothing to wear, and I’m sure the nobles would not want to dance with the like of us.” Madam de Fer waved off his insecurities.

“If you are to go in my place, of course I will supply you with the proper attire.” She dug deep into her bag once more. “Here.” Before them, on the old rickety table two golden livery collars, one with a lion’s head embossed on the center charm, the other with a snarling mabari head.

“The mabari head is mine!” Alistair said as he snatched up the chain and marveled at carving.

"We can’t accept these. These are what nobles wear, if we get caught with this we’ll be thrown in the stocks. “

"Fear not my dear. These are enchanted chains, which will give you the clothing of a noble for the night. They have a four-hour charge, at the stroke of midnight the magic dissipates and needs to recharge. As long as you don’t wear them with your regular clothes you should be fine.” Now I haven’t quite figured out how to enchant shoes like I can with clothes. So–” She began to rummage in her bag again. How many things could that thing hold? “Ah! Here they are.” She placed upon the table two pairs of leather shoes accented in gold leaf. The men looked at them incredulously. “They are all the rage in Orlais.”

Alistair was about to make a comment before Cullen hushed him. “It is more than we deserve. We cannot accept these gifts.”

“Nonsense.” She stood slightly towering over the two men. Maker she was a giantess in those shoes she wore. Madam de Fer rest her hand on their shoulders." You are good men. You deserve some happiness, even if it’s for a night. It is the least I could do.”

It was so sudden, too sudden. They had just talked about the ball this morning and both had accepted that they weren’t going to go, but now they were? This mage gave them magical necklaces that will give them the clothes of a noble and golden shoes as thanks? It was very strange. Surely their masters would be there and see them. How were they going to get there? It was already so late would they even make it? His mind was racing thinking of all the things that could go wrong. He turned to Alistair; a smile was creeping across his face.

“How do these work?”


	2. Chapter 2

The doors of Skyhold castle were taller then the old oak tree that stood outside Alistair and Cullen’s straw thatched cottage. All Cullen could do was stare at the imposing wood and iron doors as Alistair twitched with impatience. They were in the courtyard where just a few yards away was a carriage with four white horses that had swiftly raced them from their small hovel in Haven to the front gate of the castle. Cullen looked back at their transportation. It seemed…normal. In reality it wasn’t or maybe this wasn’t reality?

Somehow the mage Madam de Fer had transformed a pumpkin and four white mice into the carriage and horses behind them. It must be some type of dream, because he was certain no magic could transform an object into something it’s not.

Alistair didn’t seem to worry about this.

Both men were alive and well, dressed in the finest clothes they had ever seen. Beyond the door was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. They will most certainly never have this chance again.

Alistair adjusted his mabari mask, brushed off the imaginary dirt from his sleeves and straightened the front of his justaucorp. Cullen was amazed with his friend confidence. But why shouldn’t be? He was the night sky in blue and silver, the embroidery down the front of his coat creating star patterns large and striking.

Cullen looked down at the red and gold suit he was wearing. It was all too much. He knew someone would see right through him. The spiraling gold filigree did nothing to hide the farmhand.  He plucked at the large cuffs on his sleeve, “I can’t do this.”

Alistair’s head snapped toward him. His eyes, what little he could see, were in shock. “We’re here aren’t we? Look–Cullen!" His friend went up to him and began to tidy his clothes. “We may never get another chance to do something like this. How about we go in and see if we can find those ladies from this morning?”

"Alistair–Alistair stop–” He swatted his friend’s hand away hard enough that he had to readjust the lion’s mask back on his face. “We’re never going to find them. The purpose of this ball is to find husbands for those princesses. So I doubt there would be single noble women milling about when all of the men here would surely want to dance with a princess.” Alistair huffed at this and began to stroll toward the doors. “Wait–wait–What are you doing?”

The ginger turned and gave a devilish smirk. “I’m going in. What’s the harm in having one night off?”

Cullen began to pluck at his cuffs again. Why was he nervous? In all likelihood they wouldn’t get caught as long as they were careful. But why was his stomach twisting and knotting into a giant lump? He nodded using Alistair’s confidence to silence his anxiety. “You’re right–you’re right, Alistair. But we have only two hours to dance and then we need to leave. Madame de Fer said disperses at midnight, and I’d rather not walk back home.”

“Okay, okay! Let’s go!” whined Alistair as he dragged Cullen into the foyer of the Great Hall.

Maker’s breath, what a sight to behold. Colorful dresses fluttered about the room, making it look like petals drifting off a tree in springtime. Music swelled as the petals were lifted high into the air with joyous squeals from the flowers crash into the swirling sounds of the music as the dancers were gently place back on to the gleaming marble floor. They were so far away from their tiny shack and dirt floor.

At the center of the maelstrom were two women, the sun and the moon. They were dancing with shadows as the world around them sprang to life. Cullen gazed at the sun, stout and voluptuous dressed in gold, which was studded with rubies and diamonds. Her auburn hair pulled into a mess of braids and jewels. Maker did she shine.

Without another thought, Cullen barreled forward unable and unwilling to stop his feet. Oblivious to his surroundings, he pushed through the weeds of dancers to finally reach the alter of the golden goddess. In mid dance she paused and turned to look at this new acolyte. It was the woman from this morning. Oh Maker, those sapphire blue eyes! What a sight, how did he not notice those before? A contemptuous cough shook Cullen out of his trance.

“May we help you?” sneered the shadow.

“I—I just wanted—“ His eyes dared not move from her radiant face. Square features that were softened by smooth pale skin, with a hint of rouge high on the apples of her cheeks. Gently she smiled. “I—I just wanted to ask the lady for a dance,” he stuttered.

A snort was his reply. Ice flooded Cullen’s veins as he turned to the shadow. Before him was Master Raleigh dressed in black and gold with a mask of a jackal, which seemed to be snarling at him. The goddess touched the Jackal’s arm delicately “General, calm yourself. The Commander meant no harm.” Commander? Why did she call him such a title? Was this made in jest?

A deep sigh rang from Cullen’s employer. “My dear, must you use these silly names?”

She chuckled, illuminating the room. “You know the rules,” she then turned to Cullen. “I’d love to dance with you, Commander. The General here has been keeping me to himself all night. Not that I blame him.”

Raleigh gave a low unamused chuckle, “Thank you for not faulting me, I could not help myself.“ Raleigh brought her hands up to his lips and brushed a gentle kiss on her gloved knuckles. "I shall take my leave. Please me lady, will you save one more dance for me?” After receiving a polite nod he kissed her hand once again then turned and stiffly walked away. Cullen couldn’t help but stare at his dejected master. Did that really happen?

Fiddling with her fingers, the sun quickly plucked a flute of champagne from a passing server. She downed it quick enough that she was able to place it back on the same tray. Her cheeked reddened when she caught his gaze. Was she nervous? She tugged at his arm. “Come, this way,” she beamed a now shaky smile as she lead him to the dance floor.

Panic struck him as they took to the floor. As the music began to play he had realized he had no idea how to dance. A jig sure but this type of dancing? “Is something the matter?” the sun murmured through a bit lip, gazing up at him with concern. He rubbed the back of this neck.

“I’ve never danced before, my lady.” Cullen admitted. He didn’t even know where to put his hands, or how to hold her.

“Oh…well no matter, Commander, I’ll show you.” Placing his hands in the proper areas they began. It didn’t take long to for him to get the hang of it. The movement was simple and needed to be done at a precise moment. He likened it to his training. While he knew he’d never become a Templar, he still practiced swordplay every night with Alistair in the event that someday, just maybe, he would get his chance. It seemed that this habit helped him on the dance floor. “You said you couldn’t dance,” she smirked as Cullen twirled her away from him.

“I said I’ve never danced before. There is a difference, my lady.” There was silence as they continued to flow with the rhythm. Around him people performed the same dance, and at one point in the music their partners lifted the women. The sun shrank when she saw this, stiffening until they passed that segment of the dance. Making a mental note Cullen waited for the music swelled then he lifted his lady as high as he could. She gasped, quickly gripping his shoulders, fingers digging deep into the padding. Gently he placed the sun down, arms still wrapped around his neck, her face buried into his waistcoat. Did he do something wrong?

They were unmoving on the dance floor, her body rigid. When the song had ended she raced off the dance floor, out the side doors. Cullen quickly followed and found her in a secluded garden. Crisp air filled his lungs as he took in the sight around him. The castle garden was filled with a multitude of flowers that glowed from the flood of moonlight. Before him she sat bathed in the moonlight, her golden gown muted to a dull yellow, arms wrapped around her waist, head down. Was she blushing? “I’m–Sorry—I was just–um–feeling flush—I–I needed some air.“

Carefully Cullen sat next to her. Should her reach out and touch her? Bring her into his chest to comfort her? “No need to apologies my lady—I—“

“Maker, you are strong,” she blurted, the blush on her cheeks growing brighter. He bit back a gasp. The lift in the dance upset her? Maker he felt like a fool. “No one has ever done that with me in a dance before.”

“No one?” Cullen spoke, as he closed the gap between them. “That’s hard for me to imagine—“

“Well I am—“ gesturing at her full figure, she gave a grimacing look.

Cullen grasped the lady’s hand and tilted her face towards him. “Stunning?” Maker she looked horrified.

“I was going to say fat.”

“You are far from it my lady.”

“Do not lie. I know what I am. I…” She wrapped her arms around her hourglass waist, face searching for the right words. “I’m just an acquired taste…”

Cullen moved closer to her. He brushed a stray hair away from her cheek looking deep into those deep blue eyes. “So does that mean I don’t have to worry about anyone stealing you away from me?”

In one swift motion the sun was upon him. Soft lips pressing hard against his, she eagerly drank him. Instinctively he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to his body.  But she quickly pulled away her face a deep crimson. “I’m, uh…My apologies. That was inappropriate.” Cupping her face between his hand and gave her a chaste kiss.

“No need sweet lady. It was a welcomed gift.” His heart thundered in his ears as she sighed his fake title. When he chuckled, she jerked away wrinkling her nose into nasty look, which frankly looked adorable to him. “My apologies. I wasn’t laughing at you, but merely the name you have given me. I don’t even know yours.”

A puzzled expression crossed her face. “You—You don’t know my name?”

“How would I? I just met you.”

“But I assume you are here for the same reason that all the other men are here for.”

“To marry one of the princesses? That wasn’t my intention when I came here and when I saw you, that was the last thing on my mind.” Her laughter was deep and gasping. Bracing her self herself against his chest as she vibrated. “Did I say something funny?” Gazing up at him she smiled broadly.

“Commander, I am one of the Princesses. I am Princess Cressida of Ostwick.” Cullen’s body stiffened at the admission, blood going cold. Maker’s breath, the woman he had fallen for was a princess? “Is there a problem?”

“No—of course not–I—just–I do not deserve a woman such as you.” He turned to leave when Cressida grasped tightly to his sleeve cuff.

“Isn’t that for me to decide. Please don’t go.” Cullen gently removed her hand, smoothing his thumb over the lace-covered knuckles.

“I am unworthy–” he murmured while gazing at the small dainty hand resting within his large calloused one. Her fingers gripped tightly into hand.

“Don’t say that—“

Turning his head from he let go of Cressida’s hand. He could not deny that face. He had to look away; it was for their own good. “You don’t even know me.”

“And yet I feel like I’ve known you my whole life.” Cullen froze. Could she really mean something like that? He felt that same pull to Cressida a feeling he had already known her so well. But how could she love a man like him? A man that was pretending to be a noble, she would despise him if she found out.  He looked toward the large clock tower. Thirty minutes to midnight.

“I’m sorry, I need to leave.”

“Please—“ she begged. Oh Maker help him, he did not want to see her cry.  

Cullen gave her hand a gentle kiss. “In another life, I swear to you I would be at your side, but I cannot.” With that he turned to find his friend.

~~~~~~~~

Alistair’s mouth was slightly agape at the sight. Cullen had rushed off to his lady, while he just stood and watched as the moon rippled along the floor. Her silver and diamond dress swishing as she danced just above the ground, feet barely making contact with the smooth marble floor. That long raven hair woven with diamonds and pearls half up in an intricate braided bun moved perfectly along with the music.

He couldn’t do it. For all of his bluster he couldn’t get the courage to go up to her and ask to dance. There he stood for what seemed like hours and for a moment he thought he would leave this ball without doing anything. But then the moon saw him. A slight smile spread across her light pink lips as she made her way toward him.

“I don’t believe we’ve met. I would be a terrible host if I didn’t meet all my guests.”

“Host? You’re–you’re one of the prin–princesses?” A slight nod gave him the confirmation. “Oh—um forgive me–uh–my lady–uh your highness–I’m–I’m not from around here. I should have known better—“

“Truly? If you’re not from here how would you know better?”

“Well—you’re the prettiest thing in this room—which—I mean of course would make you a princess.” Maker he was acting like a fool but she laughed at this, and not in a harsh way her eyes sparkled like crystal clear waters.

“Well good Warden, would you like to dance?”

“Warden? But I’m—I’m not–I’m actually–“ The raven haired princess shook her head.

“It’s a nickname. You’re wearing blue and silver like the Wardens. So you are the Warden. No, no! Don’t tell me you name.” She placed her hand up to stop him from speaking. He couldn’t help but feel a blush creep onto his face. “You name is for after midnight. So dear Warden, a dance?”

He took her hand and was lead out on to the dance floor where he attempted to dance. His feet tired tried to help him do the right steps but he would catch the princess’s dress once or twice. She just chuckled at this. “You don’t need to impress me Ser, you’re already dancing with me.”

“Your beauty is so distracting, dear princess.“

“Oh puppy, your such a flatterer.“

“Puppy?” She delicately place a perfect porcelain finger along the nose of his mask. “Oh–does every gentleman get a second nickname?“

"I couldn’t help it. Your mask is adorable. It looks like my mabari.“

They rose and fell to the music swaying with the other couples on the floor. Alistair spun his lady out and pulled her back in. “Adorable. Not a word I normally hear.”

She stiffened in his arms. “My apologies did I offend–”

“Not at all. I’ve just never been met with such kindness before.” She swirled away again then was pulled tight into his arms and dipped. The long column of her snow white throat exposed to him. Maker he wished to kiss it. “I never thought the Maker could bless someone with such heart and loveliness.”

A flush brushed across her skin when she rose to meet his. They just stood transfixed until end of the song. Remembering herself, the princess gave a curtsy. “That was fine dancing good Ser.”

“You are too kind my lady. I—uh—thank you—uh—“

“Rythlen. My name is Rythlen.” Such a beautiful name to go with that face. Remembering his manners, he bowed and kissed her hand. “Next time—don’t just stand around waiting for something to happen” she advised, as he rose to meet her eyes.

“Next time? You mean you haven’t found your one true love?”

“I have an idea. But I think I need a few more dances before I’ve decided.” Alistair smirked getting some of his confidence back.

“Lucky me.” Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Cullen motioning frantically to follow. “Sadly I must leave you my lady, I have quite a journey back to my home but—but–I do wish to see you again. If there is another ball I promise I won’t just stand on the balcony the whole night.” Rythlen nodded, giving a polite smile.

“I’ll mention the idea to my father.” With a nod of his head and another quick kiss of Rythlen’s hand, Alistair raced after Cullen, turning back only to see the clock strike fifteen minutes to midnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! I love getting feedback.


	3. Chapter 3

Cressida awoke in a muddled haze. The taste of stale wine still lingered in her mouth. Drowning her anxiety with wine and champagne had not been the wisest choice. If she hadn't drunk so much she might have remembered more than just the sweet smile and golden eyes of the man she had spent her evening with, the one she had chased away. Maker, this was a disaster. Why in the Void had she kissed him? It had been an impulsive and desperate act, something she would never be able to live down. 

Flopping out of her bed, she padded over to the window seat, to bask in the sun. Outside the window she watched her cousin, Rythlen, sparring with Guard Captain Blackwall. Rythlen was sublime the way she moved and handled a blade; she could easily fell anyone who opposed her, but people rarely gave her the opportunity. A shameful hue rose in her face. Scrunching her eyes tight Cressida knocked the back of her head against the alcove wall, willing her anxious stomach to settle. She shouldn’t compare herself to Rythlen. But she did,and Cressida would give anything to have a life that was confident and not broken. 

Discovering her powers at thirteen, married at sixteen to a Tevinter Magister, Cressida had always done what other people expected. 

Quite, demure, back in Ostwick. No one could know her secret. Silent and out of sight in Tevinter. Never allowed outside of her gilded cage. Being half Free Marcher had lowered her standing in Tevinter, a Leatan she was called. It shamed her husband. Her marriage to him merely a favor to her father. 

Cressida nails bit into her palm. 

Thank the Maker that man was dead now, slaughtered by his own slave. 

A great sigh left Cressida’s lungs as she gazed again out the window. Now was not the time for unhappy thoughts. She should be happy. Last night was proof that somewhere out there, there was a person that could see past the title. That found her worthy at least physically and in time, she hoped, they’d love her whole self as well.

But she continued to watch the group of men now ogling Rythlen, no doubt here for the ball and just for her. The events of last night prompted Josie to quickly send invitations asking those that attended that night to return to Skyhold for a week long gathering. "The princesses have chosen their husbands," claimed the invite. Celebrations are were in order. 

Last she checked Cressida had not chosen a husband. The man she wished to court fled from the palace so quickly he was likely in Kirkwall by now. No, this wasn’t for her. It was for Rythlen.

Looking down at the hordes of men surrounding her friend, she had no doubt and that was fine by her. Cressida didn’t wish to marry again. The ball was meant to quiet her parents’ anxieties.

With her husband dead, Cressida was the sole owner of the estate. She had money. She had freedom in her old secluded castle nestled on the border between Ferelden and Orlais. Was that not enough for her family? Did she need to marry again to make them feel safe in the knowledge that their little mageling was out of harm's way?

A thud rang throughout the room as her head connected with the wall again. Eyes prickled with caustic tears. Maybe she could disappear? Once more she turned her eyes to the practice grounds. Now two men were showing off their physical prowess to Rythlen. Thud, thud, thud. The last blow caused her to wince. Maybe she could just sleep forever? Allow the fade to claim her and give her a blissful existence.

“My, my. Still in your bed clothes?” Cressida turned to see Vivienne encompassing the room, a wide smirk painted across her face. The mage glowed in a bright turquoise gown that dripped with pearls and gold. Never had Cressida heard of a mage who retained such freedom and wealth as Vivienne. Bastien, her lover, doted on her, and you can tell that not only did he love Vivienne, he worshipped her. Cressida tried not to stare at the ebony skinned beauty instead opted to investigate her threadbare muslin nightgown. Perhaps she should invest in a new one. “So Josie told me of a mysterious man—“ 

Cressida groaned and curled inward toward the window. “I'd rather not talk about it.” Below in the practice ring, Rythlen looked to be interrupting the peacocking of an unfamiliar man. That was strange. 

“If you don’t speak with me, I can’t make it better.” Silence filled the room. A deep sigh rang out from the mage, “Are you worried this man didn’t fancy you? Because I’m sure he does, my dear.” 

“Vivienne, he ran away.” She didn't need to look at Vivienne to feel the mage’s irritation. “One look at the clock tower and he…he just ran.” A slight chill hung in the air, which was peculiar. Vivienne never lost her temper. A rock plummeted into her stomach. Had Cressida’s constant self-deprecating tone finally pushed her friend over the edge? “ Look…I know…I know…I need to get over it…” 

“That's not what I was thinking,” interrupted Vivienne. Cressida turned seeing Vivienne sitting delicately on her bed, tight lipped, smooth hands stiff, tense and gnarled. “I… I find it very rude and improper that he left you there like that.” 

“It's not like I'm going to see him again.” 

Vivienne’s angry fingers bit at her delicate fabric of her skirt. “I can assure you he won’t,” snapped Vivienne. Slowly, Cressida carefully moved from her nook to sit next to her friend. 

Tentatively she placed her head on the woman’s shoulder. “Are you telling me, that the great Vivienne de Fer, is losing her control because her friend was rejected?” It was a horrible attempt at being playful, though it cracked the veneer. A small smile began to emerge. Quietly Cressida exhaled and smoothed Vivienne’s livid fingers “You'll ruin the fabric if you keep doing that.” 

Vivienne's gave a gasping laugh and nodded slightly. “Doesn't matter, next month I hear we’ll all be dressed in green.” Gazing deep into Cressida’s eyes a warm smile spread across her face. “My apologies. I just can't stand to see you upset, my darling. You deserve so much more then that.” 

Cressida chuckled as she embraced the woman in a crushing hug. “My sweet Madame de Fer, I do not deserve you.”

“Of course you don’t.” Vivienne smirked. Pulling her young friend off her and lightly squeezed her shoulders. “Now, get bathed and let’s see if the seamstress finally made something worthy of your stature.” 

\----------

Rythlen was unaccustomed to using a shield. It was unwieldy, slow. She missed dual wielding, a difficult skill that lent itself well to her dance like movements. 

Grace on the battlefield wasn't going to serve her today. Strong forceful blows compelled her to keep the shield up. It was her idea to spar with the man. Captain Blackwall had been kind enough to to let her practice with his men but now she wasn't so sure it was the wisest idea to challenge the man himself. If she had her other blade, she could parry to strike his open side.

A blade fell forward and struck Rythlen's quickly placed shield: “You seem distracted, your highness,” grunted Captain Blackwall as he landed another blow on Rythlen’s shield. 

“Just,” another hit against the shield. “Just out of practice, Serah.” Blackwall gave an amused chuckle. 

“Do you wish to conclude this match? I see you have some admirers.” Rythlen spun around to see a gaggle of men, gawking at the perimeter of the field. She made an audible grumble which caused the captain to laugh. “Not your type?”

“I am unaccustomed to being watched when I practice.” Raising her shield she beckoned the captain. “Let’s try again.”

With a bow of his head Blackwall readied himself. “After you, my lady.” Dashing forward, the princess knocked her shield into him, trying to force him back. He stood grounded like a mountain. The rhythmic knocking of Blackwall’s own shield pushed her back as they warred for supremacy. Finally Rythlen retreated attempting to put more distance between them. 

Blackwall surged forward causing Rythlen to side step and bash her shield into his side. He wobbled before putting his shield up which gave Rythlen the opening. Swiftly she placed the blade gently along his neck, careful not to harm, only warn. The older man gave a weary chuckle. “I was wondering when you’d get the best of me.”

“You did leave yourself open, Serah,” she smiled as she return her sword to its home. 

“Ah...well you have been wearing me away for over an hour. ‘Suppose I was bound to slip.” Rythlen arched her delicate eyebrow, the corners of her lips pulling upward.

“Are you ashamed you were bested by a woman, Captain?” Blackwall flushed at the accusation and shook his head.

“Not at all. Merely ashamed I couldn’t keep up with ya. I'm certainly feelin’ my age.”

Rythlen chuckled knocking her shoulder into Blackwall. “Don't speak like that. You are barely the same age as my father. You'll shatter my belief that he's invincible.” 

Another low rumble arose out of Blackwall. “Aye. Wouldn't be good if a daughter loses faith in her father. My apologies your Highness.” 

“Sounds like you wish to continue your lesson your Highness,” voiced a young man with slick black hair. He parted the crowd and made his way toward Rythlen. He gave a deep bow once in her presence. “I would be honored to give you a lesson if you wish.”

“That is kinda of you to offer Ser--”

“Raleigh,” he interrupted as he arose from his bow. “Please, allow me to give you a demonstration. Alistair. Cullen.” Make way through the crowd were two young men, one blonde and sun kissed, the other ginger with a rosy glow, carrying large bundles of swords and shields. Rythlen looked back at the young lord his lean tall frame was familiar to her, was he the man speaking to her last night? The one in the jackal mask? The lord’s gaze was sharp and focused on his servants as they readied the area. 

“There is no need to impress me Serah. I'm sure you would rather save this for Lady Cressida.” Shock washed over the man’s face. “You were the man speaking to her last night, yes? The one in the jackal mask.”

“That I was,” confirmed Raleigh. He began to twitch under her gaze. “Admittedly, I was actually flirting for my brother. He was much too shy to speak with her last night and asked me to ‘warm her up’ for him,” he gave a weak smile as Rythlen's eyes roamed to were the youngest lord stood. He was tall but stout with beady black eyes, long oil black hair simile to his brother and a beard just beginning to grow in. Certainly a man Cressida wouldn't look twice at; his eyes were too stern, angry for the shy princess. “I don't think I did a good job. I hope I didn't ruin my brother’s chances.” Rythlen returned her eyes to Raleigh.

“I'm sure if he speaks to her himself he will do well. Cressida prefers a man who can speak for himself.” Thought Rythlen believed her friend didn't want any of this.Rythlen's father had suggested Rythlen join the festivities, hoping it would be an excuse for her and the recluse princess to leave her room.

Bless her father. He always did try to make sure everyone was happy. Rythlen was perfectly happy being single, though her mother did frown upon it sometimes. Eleanor didn't wish her daughter to fall on the warrior's path like herself and her husband. But as they say, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

The servants were ready. The blonde one had a shield strapped to his left arm a sword dangling in his right hand. Rythlen was certain from his tense posture the man did not wish to be a part of this demonstration.

“Now Cullen, are you ready?” Raleigh twirled the sword in his hand, his own silver shield maneuvered to his front.

“Perhaps you could show me another time? Have you seen the garden? Perhaps we could talk of battle strategies and history.”

“Nonsense, my lady. Cullen and I spar all the time. Isn't that right Cullen?” The young man named Cullen nodded his head, his tight lined lips said otherwise. “Stand back, Your Highness.” Raleigh ushered Rythlen to the side then readied himself. He rushed forward and slammed himself into Cullen who surprisingly stood his ground. Maybe there was truth to what Raleigh said. Again another attack, this time with a blade toward the side. Cullen blocked but was knocked back by Raleigh’s shield. 

Dread coiled in Rythlen’s stomach. This was too fast too vicious for a simple bout. Back and forth they went, Cullen defending, Raleigh attacking. The sound of metal on metal becoming unbearable. 

“Alright that's enough,” bellowed the princess just as Raleigh rose his sword high in the air . Cullen stayed in his defensive position, ready for the attack. As the blade swung down Rythlen shrieked again, “I said stop!” Cullen's eyes averted from his opponent for just a moment his stance no longer true, the blade went past his shield straight to his face cutting a wound from his hairline down across his eye to bisect his lip. 

A brief horrid scream escaped Cullen's mouth as he tumbled back into the dirt. Raleigh recoiled at the sight dropping his weapon and shield. Rythlen raced toward the injured man pushing the young lord out of the way. 

“Captain Blackwall, get Lady Cressida at once! You, Alistair? Help me take him to the infirmary.”


	4. Chapter 4

It was hard to describe the gown Cressida was now in. Dressed in a sheer dress embroidered with diamonds, Cressida looked like she was made of stardust. She had never seen anything like it before. There were no ruffles or lace, not even a corset due to the deep backline of the dress. Everything could be seen, at least that's what she believed.

It was a scandalous design. The diamonds hid certain areas while leaving other exposed, like her stomach. A gown like this made her want to curl into herself. No corset to shape her, no ruffles, lace or bows to hide “unflattering” features. It was just her body in a long slinky diamond dusted dress.

“You look so stunning,” breathed Josephine, her tea cup hovering just below her lips.  
“I have no words.”

“See my dear,” smirked Vivienne, “you have made your dear lady-in-waiting speechless.”

“It's very… revealing,” murmured the princess as she turned to examine her figure in the tall mirror.

“I can't wear a breast band, let alone smalls.” The weight of her large breasts were noticeable, and she was certain someone could see her whole backside through the sheer material.

“I don't know about this one.”

“Everyone is going to be wearing this in three years time,” glowed Vivienne.

She slinked behind Cressida and pulled the long fine hair up and back.

“Trust me.”

Cressida gave a faint smile while looking at herself in the mirror.

“I guess this is the one then.”

Josephine clapped her hands excitedly. “They are going to throw themselves at you tonight!”

Cressida blushed at the thought. There was only one person she truly wanted to see and doubted she would see him again. The Antivan glided beside her and placed her head on Cressida’s shoulder.

“I know what you're thinking and you don't deserve a man like him. If he does not appear tonight you are better off.”

“Agreed,” Vivienne curtly replied, still playing with Cressida’s hair.

“I know but… it just felt…” She couldn't describe it. Was it love? Romantic love was so foreign to her - having never experienced it with her ex-husband or anyone before she came into her powers. What was she feeling?

The door to her room crashed open. The women twirled to meet Captain Blackwall, breath erratic and mouth open in shock. “Captain?”

Blackwall was frozen, redness creeped onto his cheeks. She heard a faint “Maferath’s balls,” escape his lips and realization dawned on her. Quickly she threw her dressing robe over herself to hide the revealing garment. Her cheeks began to warm.

“Captain Blackwall? Is something the matter?” She spoke again. This time her voice shaky, embarrassed.

“I...uh…” Blackwall stuttered, “Sorry your highness...I...uh,” he forced himself back into a professional state.

“Princess Rythlen request that you come to the infirmary immediately. We have a gravely injured servant.”

Swiftly, Cressida raced to her desk and began shoving poultices into her satchel.

Vivienne cleared her throat. “My dear, might I suggest you change?”

“No time.”

“My Lady, if something were to happen to the dress, you would not have anything to wear to the ball,” reminded Josephine.

“Then I won't go to the ball. I'm sure they won't notice. Rythlen will get all of the attention tonight.” Cressida twirled toward Blackwall after filling her pack to the brim.

“Captain, lead the way.”

\------

Alistair found it hard seeing Cullen like this. He paced back and forth in the small infirmary as Rythlen sat beside the injured man.

“I think the bleeding has stopped,” she murmured as she continued to keep the cloth pressed to his face.

“This is all my fault,” he wailed. “We should have never had come here.”

“I didn't realize you had a choice,” hummed Rythlen as she peeled the cloth away to look at the wound and then placed it back.

“Your masters brought you here, did they not?”

“Uh...yes...I suppose you're right,” grumbled Alistair feeling absolutely gutted. Raleigh had always been jealous of Cullen. Treated him harsher than anyone including Alistair. The thought that this wasn't just an accident, but some ploy to disfigure or even kill his friend crept out from the deepest recesses of Alistair’s mind. His friend might die, all because of Raleigh’s insecurities.

A worse thought jumped into Alistair’s mind. What if Raleigh knew? What if he knew that they attended the ball last night? Was this a punishment for reaching far beyond their status?

A soft hand rest on Alistair's shoulder. He looked over to the gentle smile of Princess Rythlen. She squeezed gently.

“He will be fine. Cressida is an excellent herbalist. I'm sure your friend will be back up in a matter of hours.” The tension began to melt from Alistair's shoulders.

Unthinkingly, Alistair took Rythlen's hand and smoothed his calloused thumb over the pale satin skin.

“I have no words. I...I...thank you, truly.” He felt heat envelope his face and crawl up to his ears. All she did was smile and Maker, that smile would end him. He wanted to lean in and kiss those lips to feel just for a moment that he was worthy of a woman like this. One whose smile could heal the deepest of wounds.

That thought ceased once the door opened and the second princess rushed in. Wrapped in a simple robe she went straight to Cullen's side. Rythlen had released Alistair's hands as soon as her companion entered the room.

“Cressida, are you…”

“Wearing a gown?” Spoke the princess. “Yes. I was in a dress fitting when Blackwall retrieved me. I didn't have time to change out of it.”

“You'll ruin your dress.”

“That's what Vivienne said,” The woman murmured. “It is fine. Besides, I can always get another dress.”

Gently Cressida lifted the bandage to examine the wound. Alistair heard a slight gasp escaped from her lips and something in...Tevinter?

“Language,” scolded Rythlen as she watched Cressida wipe some of Cullen’s blood on a nearby rag.

“This is going to take some time. I would suggest you two head to the Royal Elfroot and rest.” Princess Cressida began to lay out her many potions. Alistair made a move toward her but was held back by Rythlen who gently shook her head.

“We’ll check on you two in an hour. Come Alistair, the first round is on me.”

\----

Once all her tools were in place, Cressida gently lifted the bandage off of the servants face. Moving his face gently towards the light she grimaced at the damage. A large wound spanned his entire face from scalp to lip. The wound was clean and straight, but as she carefully felt along the wound the eye socket under his right eye had been crushed.

No poultice could fix this. He would mostly like need lyrium for the rest of his days to help numb the pain and his eye would be completely gone.

Cressida worried her lip with her teeth. It was unfair that he should have to live like this, not when she knew she could fix it. It had been so long since Anders taught her healing magic, and she had been reluctant to use any magic for fear of exposing herself.

But this man before her will either die or live a life of pain if she didn't do something.

She remembered from her lessons that one must coax a spirit to them in order to take advantage of the healing properties of the fade. This always took so long for her to do. What if someone walked in on her?

Sucking in her breath, she began cleaning his wound allowing her mind to wander. She focused on her breath, the slight rise and fall of her chest, and the quiet of the infirmary.

Nothing was coming. Panic rose in her chest. Praying to the Maker, she slathered a bright green Elfroot poultice on the wound.

Nothing.

She smeared the mixture of blood and medicine on her coat. If the spirits weren't going to help, she might as well start with basic healing magic. Gently she hovered her hands over the wound near the scalp.

Cressida moved her fingers in an intricate pattern, imagining the skin knitting itself back together.

It was a slow, meticulous process. She barely reached the middle of his forehead when cool glowing hands slid against her own.

Biting back a gasp she continued, now guided by spirit hands. The wound closed at a rapid pace. When she reached the bone around the man’s eye, one hand lifted up causing the magic to pull at the bone. There was a horrible cracking sound as the bone shifted back into its proper place. Once that was finished, one hand rested on his eye, gently stroking at newly mended skin.

There was a groan and instantly the spirit was gone. The man’s eyes fluttered open.

Cressida screeched as the man flew forward with a growl, his eyes wild. They tumbled backward; her dress snagged on the bed causing a long huge slit up the front of her gown.

The patient’s body smashed into hers as they collided into the ground. Cressida grunted when she felt his weight. The sound was returned by him as he slowly shifted up.

“Maker’s breath!,” he exclaimed. His warm breath fluttered onto her neck causing her to squirm and shudder underneath him. Keeping her eyes shut, Cressida struggled to stay still. Maybe if he thought she was unconscious he wouldn't hurt her further.

His nose brushed against her as he lifted himself up. Cressida's eyes shot open and met deep honey gold ones.

“Oh!” Cressida gasped.

Their bodies stayed pressed together for what seemed like forever as they stared deep into each other's eyes. She shifted underneath him, her legs going to either side of his hips. The blood drained out of her face.

Maker’s breath--she forgot she wasn't wearing any undergarments under her dress.

Her patient seemed to notice as well as his face turn a bright crimson and something warm and hard jutted against her sex. The man scrambled back.

“By the void! I'm so sorry--” His eyes slightly wandered down her frame and quickly snapped shut.   
“I--I---uh,” He turned toward the bed and fumbled for something.

A large blanket was thrown over Cressida in a frenzied panic. The princess began to struggle against the it looking for the edge.   
“Shit! Sorry! I--” She heard him thunder forward and began to move the blanket trying to find her.

The blanket slumped against her shoulders and their eyes meet again. His face contorted in worry and horror. He must thought she would be furious with him. Cressida just laughed.

“That's one way to introduce yourself.” The man's shoulders slacked as a shy smile graced his lips.

“I’m Cullen,” he murmured. “I'm so sorry--I--”

“It's alright,” Cressida cooed. “The poultice can cause minor hallucinations when applied to the facial region.” That was a lie which thankfully Cullen seemed to accept.

“It was still unacceptable--” his face blushed as the cover shifted off her shoulders when Cressida moved closer to him.

“I mean my reaction--” Cullen's face turned a brighter red.

“That can happen to with the poultice--I mean--uh,” Cressida stuttered as Cullen covered his face with his hands. “It fine--I'm not--” She shouldn't have said anything.

Cressida moved forward and brushed her hand against his face following the trail that use to contain a horrible wound. Now just a lift scar marred his perfect lips. Their eyes met for the third time. Those eyes were so familiar, was he the man from last night?

Inching closer she moved into his arms intending to inspect him more closely.

“Your highness--” he breathed. He stiffened at her delicate touch. What was she doing?

“I--I” His body shook against hers. Cressida drew back, her face red.

“I'm sorry--I--lost my head.” She was still so close to him, his arms hanging loosely at her sides.

“You just remind me of a man I met last night. Um--” Cressida began, “I'm sorry for startling you.”

“I'm sorry for ripping your dress.” Cressida threw her head back in a deep throaty laugh.

“The dress is the least of my concern.” Cullen’s fingers soon gripped at Cressida’s sides causing her eyebrows to raise. “Cullen?”

“Your highness--you mentioned a man that you met last night--”

The door soon swung open as Alistair and Rythlen walked into the infirmary. The pair paused as they surveyed the scene. Rythlen’s eyes landed on the couple on the floor.

“For the love of Andraste, what happened here?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoy it. Please let me know what you think. I love learning on how to better my work.


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